


Redbush

by poD7et, rabidbinbadger



Series: Tales from the Bunker [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Gun play, I don't know, MCD, Main Character Death, Murder, Russian Roulette, WTF, blowjob, bluebeard, dub con, fairy tale, i wrote this sober, no seriously, non con, story telling, which i think is the most disturbing part, wtf charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poD7et/pseuds/poD7et, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidbinbadger/pseuds/rabidbinbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t mean . . .” Becky said, eyes growing wide. “This is an Abaddon story?!”</p><p>“It is.” Charlie replied with indignation, “And if you’d let me continue, you’d see that my tale is called Redbush: A modern retelling of the misogynistic tale of Barbe Bleue.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redbush

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this. I tagged it. Read the tags before you read this. Seriously.

In all the confusion, Charlie made her way up to Becky’s lectern. When did the boys get a lectern anyway? Did Becky bring this herself just for today? That’s actually pretty impressive because the thing seemed to be pretty solid. Becky was pretty tough when she wanted to be and despite her flaws, that was all manner of hot.

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head roughly to shake that thought from her head. Becky? No way, Charlie. You have standards, girl!

Charlie stood at the lectern while there was some hubbub about Sam and apparently-killed-by-a-hex-bag-Sarah who was happily married with a daughter and can we pLEASE DROP THE SUBJECT NOW?!

She was a few sentences into her story when suddenly everyone realized there was even something speaking.

“. . . she preferred the bite of words or the slow poison of her cunning to any instruments. But that’s not to say that she didn’t appreciate the blunt application of more ‘traditional’ weapons.”

“What the hell . . . ?” Becky whispered, “Is this another birthday story . . .” she fell silent as she listened to the words of Charlie’s story.

“One of her favorites was a sharpened sickle. It’s shape instilled fear in the hearts of those who beheld it in her slender hand. It cut deep and with proper care and finesse, she could slice the vocal cords of those who stood against her and while she listened to the voiceless gurgle of their death. She preferred to work with her bare hands, but there was something so beautiful about watching the curve of the blade emerge from her victim’s throat and the blood bloomed dark and red as the hair that fell about her own shoulders.

Of course, she believed the ugliest weapon of them all was the pistol. A coward’s weapon. A means to cause damage without taking responsibility. A way to keep your hands clean. But that wasn’t her style. If she found herself with a pistol, she always made it personal.”

The room was quiet as they listened to Charlie tell this tale. No one dared speak up. They were petrified of this darling little popsicle. Where the hell did all this creepy as fuck shit come from?

“And it was that hair drew many suitors. They fell in lust with her fair, unblemished skin. None could resist the thought of running their hands through her long, silky hair, over what must be firm, yet supple breasts, and down to what they were all after. Some envisioned the smooth mons venus of youth, while others believed it to be as red as the hair on her head.”

“Oh my God,” Claire said as if she were holding back sick, “I did _NOT_ want to know about your pubic hair.”

“Charlie, hon,” Becky laughed nervously, “Um, you were supposed to write a fairy tale, not um, well, uh, you know, mmm, actually, erm . . .”

“We didn’t need to know about your bush.” Dean finished. “Or your fucked up psychopath thoughts.” Dean muttered under his breath.

Charlie met all the disgusted faces surrounded her with confusion. “This isn’t about me.”

“Huh?” everyone sighed in relief.

“You guys thought this was me? Oh, ew! Gross!” Charlie said with every bit of her regular cute charm.

“Well what other redheads do we know?” Claire asked, her breathing finally slowing back to normal.

“Well of course, there’s Rowena. Great fashion sense by the way.” Charlie said dreamily.

“Do not tell me this was about my mother or I will kill every last one of you!” Crowley threatened, although it was mostly ignored.

“Of course not!” Charlie said.

“Oh thank the Lord, my savior, Jesus Christ.” Crowley whispered.

“Oh, so now you’re a believer?” Sam asked cocking an eyebrow toward the demon.

“Actually, I’m one of the few to have met the guy and lived to tell about it.” Crowley answered with a sly smile.

Sam wasn’t sure whether or not to continue this line of inquiry or just leave it.

Fortunately, Dean broke the awkward pause, “Well, if this is about Anna, I can 100% confirm that the upholstery upstairs matched the one downst--”

“This is information I did not want to know.” Castiel interjected.

“You guys!” Charlie whined. “I thought it was obvious. Redhead. Would be murder _ess_ of the world. Hotter than Hell.”

“That’s a misnomer really. Generally speaking, hell isn’t that hot.” Crowley corrected.

“FOCUS!” Charlie demanded.

“You don’t mean . . .” Becky said, eyes growing wide. “This is an Abaddon story?!”

“Thank you!” Charlie huffed in angry appreciation.

“But,” Becky continued, “isn’t this supposed to be a fairy tale?”

“It is.” Charlie replied with indignation, “And if you’d let me continue, you’d see that my tale is called _Redbush: A modern retelling of the misogynistic tale of Barbe Bleue._ ”

“Oh.” was the only reply that Becky could muster.

“Where was I?” Charlie said, skimming her story, “Ah, yes. _Anyway . . ._ the redhead, who isn’t me, or Rowena, or Anna, but Abaddon, who totally had many lovers both male and female, had the same _upholstery_ downstairs as upstairs.”

“Uh . . . I’d prefer if you’d just read the story like before instead of embellishing because this sorta su--”

“Uh, and I’d prefer if you just shut up and stop telling me how to tell me how to tell _MY_ story, okay?”

“Okay . . .”

“Yes. So despite Abaddon’s charm and grace she never seemed to keep a lover for long and was never married. They always disappeared mysteriously without so much as a goodbye. Rumors grew, as the line of suitors for the beautiful, but seemingly cursed, spinster shrunk. Some whispered that she consumed her past companions, body and soul, and used their essence to maintain her youthful appearance. Others believed that she was the victim in this scenario, being used and abused by her various partners. While still others gave voice to the idea that she had already given her heart to another, but that the favor was not returned.

Then one day, Abaddon was greeted by a man beautiful to behold. Not a single eye could pass him over for the beauty, intelligence, and kindness he exuded. And Abaddon was no exception.

They say that when they met eyes, it was with the familiarity that only those who knew each other intimately could. But, at least in the public eye, they played the part of strangers newly met. He was clearly her senior, hair grey, but long and thick. His frame showed that he was well muscled in his youth. He seemed like he would be slow to anger, but once that line was crossed, he would be a man to avoid. In fact, it was rumored that he murdered his own brother.

Regardless of their pasts, the two were clearly enamored with each other and soon consummated their relationship. The older man, Cain, moved into Abaddon’s residence and was given equal standing over the property with one caveat. He was not to enter the last door at the end of the east wing. And for a time he was content with this arrangement. Until the day Abaddon left him unattended to settle a land dispute among distant relatives. It was in this time that curiosity bested him.

As Cain walked to the east wing, the housestaff avoided eye contact and quickly shuffled away. Clearly they knew something he did not, and this only fueled his curiosity. He hesitated at the last door. There appeared to be no lock. Cain slowly wrapped his hand over the tarnished silver handle. It was eerily cold in contrast to the heat of anticipation he felt under his collar. He pulled at the door which was much heavier than he anticipated. He grasped the door with both hands and used his full body weight to pull it open.

All at once he was hit with a stench so foul he struggled to keep from retching. Cain breathed through his mouth to avoid the scent, but it left a rancid and metallic taste on his tongue. Sick bubbled up his throat, but he swallowed it down. He would not leave evidence of his betrayal.

Cain wanted to close the door, but he also needed to know what was hidden behind it. He didn’t need to see. He had a very good idea of what lay beyond; he was not a fool and knew of Abaddon’s missing paramours. However, his curiosity would not be sated until he could confirm his suspicions first hand.

He took a deep breath and then peered beyond the door. What he saw then, he would never forget for the rest of his life. Disfigured and dismembered bodies were strewn around the room without any sign of respect for the life they once contained.

Cain shoved the door shut, but the stench of death hung in the hallway. Abaddon would know of his subservience. He would not let her kill him too. He ran to his quarters and pulled up a loose floorboard. He retrieved the wood box concealed beneath. He opened it and upon seeing the Colt Paterson 1836 revolver housed within, he let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He picked up a cylinder and started to pack it, but realized his hands were trembling. He steadied himself, packed the powder, and inserted a lead ball. He fumbled for the next cylinder when he felt eyes on the back of his head. He turned and saw Abaddon standing in the doorway.

“Hello, dear.” she said with a smile.

“You’re back.” he said drawing himself to his full height, gun in hand.

“What’s this?” she asked looking down the barrel of the Colt.

“I know what you are.”

“And I, you.”

“No.”

“Are you to tell me that you did not murder your brother in cold blood as you intend to murder me now?”

Cain did not reply, but brought up his second hand to steady his aim. Despite their close quarters, he was not going to leave this shot up to chance.

Abaddon took a step closer.

“Don’t.” he threatened, although it sounded more like a plea than a threat to his own ears.

“Shhhh,” Abaddon soothed, “it’s okay. I’ve got you.” she said sliding into Cain’s space, carefully taking the gun from his hands.

She let Cain sob into her shoulder, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” over and over and over. Slowly she lead him back toward the bed. When the mattress bumped the back of his knees, he sat. Abaddon took off his shoes and socks and lined them up neatly by the foot of the bed. Next she lifted his legs onto the bed. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips as his head hit the pillows. Abaddon tucked the Colt down the front of her dress as she gently removed Cain’s clothes with soothing murmurs and loving caresses.

“Let me give you want you deserve,” Abaddon whispered before taking Cain’s flaccid cock into her mouth.

Cain’s body tensed and then relaxed as he let out a shaky breath. Abaddon hummed at the sensation and felt his arousal thicken in her mouth. She tugged gently at his sack and lightly scraped her fingernails down the inside of his thighs. She was rewarded with Cain thrusting upwards, but firm hands pressed into his hips reminded him who was really running this show.

And with that Abaddon released his cock and slid off the bed. Cain whimpered at the loss and his hand moved to grasp his aching member.

“Patience.” Abaddon growled, then softened her tone, “Let me give you what you deserve.”

Cain felt the bed dip between his legs as Abaddon climbed back up and resumed her ministrations. She slowly moved her finger from his sack, over his taint resting on the ring of muscle that guarded the gateway to the bliss he knew Abaddon could wring from him. But as she worked him open, her fingers never curled to press on that bundle of nerves.

Cain tried to twist to feel pressure over his prostate, but instead was rewarded with the removal of Abaddon’s fingers. He whined, but then felt something cold brush against his entrance. He clenched against the cold, but the feeling of Abaddon’s tongue twirling over the head of his cock relaxed him again and then felt the cool thin metal slide inside. It was impossibly long and hard and Abaddon used it to wring cries of pleasure from his lips.

And then he heard the cock of a pistol.

Cain opened his eyes, but Abaddon was still busy sucking and licking, one hand massaging and tugging, and the other working something in and out of his-- no.

“Abaddon,” he cried suddenly tense and filled with fear, “what are you do--”

CLICK

Cain felt a painful, but still pleasurable feeling of pressure.

“Behave, or next time you won’t be so lucky.” Abaddon said pulling off and grinning like a cat playing with it’s meal, “How many cylinders were you able to pack?”

“Abaddon, no!”

CLICK

“I said,” she said ramming the gun fully inside him, “How many cylinders were you able to pack?”

“J-j-ju-just one.” he stuttered.

“Good boy. So you understand the rules?” she asked resuming fucking him with the gun. She eyed what must be a painfully hard cock. Abaddon loved how this kind of power play could fuel an erection. The options of pleasure or pain could be painfully pleasurable.

“Yes.”

“So what are the chances that the next shot is loaded?”

“Three.” Cain whimpered and Abaddon drew back the hammer. “ONE IN THREE!” he shouted.

“Such a good listener.” she cooed, “So why did you break my rule about the door? We could’ve had something great.”

“What? I? I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. It was just once. It won’t happen again. I swear!”

CLICK

Cain focused on breathing. He was still alive. There were only two chambers left, and one was empty . . . the other . . .

“Why didn’t you listen to me, sweetie?”

“I was curious.”

“And what did you think of my little secret?”

“It made me sick.”

BANG.

“Oops, my finger slipped.” Abaddon said. “The correct answer was ‘what secret?’”

Cain lay on the bed. His breathing was ragged as blood stained the sheets red. And then he stopped.

“Awww,” Abaddon pouted, “I was just starting to have fun too.”

She grabbed Cain’s left foot, gun still hanging out of his asshole, and started to drag him to the east wing.”

Silence permeated the room.

“That was really . . . good?” Becky guessed.

“Really?” Charlie asked.

“Are you shitting me? She’s gone off the deep end!” Crowley shouted.

No one else said a word.

“So uhhh . . . who’s next?” Becky asked with a plastered on smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coldesthits and a kink bingo fill. WHAT NOW?


End file.
